The first person that the gentleBritish man loved
by Kakeru-san
Summary: My first fanfiction, and my first published UsUk fanfiction. Takes place years and years after the revolution. I'm sorry if the events or whatever don't make sense. Enjoy and review please!


**The first person that the gentle-British man loved**

After the Revolutionary War, England struggled to find ways to keep himself busy. Most days, he stayed in bed and cried. Other days, he'd just clean his house, but always did just one thing over and over, as he began to think, and stare into space. He was sweeping his living room one day; he swept one area, as he began to think: about how much he regretted everything, and how much he hated himself. He wondered what he did wrong, if they were ever going to be friends, and what would he do if they ever met again. Every once in a while he'd snap out of his trance and reminded himself to eat lunch and dinner, and so on.

This went on for centuries. Even when he fought other fights with other nations who wanted to leave him, he felt nothing but reminders of the Revolution.

_Why does he mean so much to me? He was the first person I grew to love. What did I do wrong? I don't even know. Does he actually hate me? I can't know for sure. Why did I want to love someone? I was lonely. Why did I want someone to love me? I was miserable as a pirate. Why did I have to change? I WAS LONELY! _

England blinked and he looked up. He was wiping the dinnning room table he no longer needed. He snapped out of his trance and realized that he should throw the table away, but it was too big. There was a knock on the door. England threw the rag on the table and went up to the door, "Who is it?"

"Hey England! It's America! Long time no see!" His voice was higher than usual and he sounded so cheery and happy…_Why?_

England slowly reached for the door knob, but hesitated_. What do I say to him? What do I do? How can I react in a way that seems normal to him? What _is_ normal? _He swallowed hard and opened the door.

Before America could say anything, he looked closely at England and noticed his gloomy face. America stopped smiling, "England? Are you alright?"

England lifted his head and forced a smile on his face, "America? Is that really you? When did you get glasses?"

America nervously smiled, _this isn't like him…_ "So, can I come in? I think we need to talk! You know, catch up!"

England stepped aside, "Please, come in!" he closed the door as soon as America came inside, "here, let me get your jacket for you!" He took off America's jacket and put it on the coat rack, "Please, sit! I'll go make tea!" He led America to the dining room. America sat down as England rushed off to the kitchen to make tea. As soon as he was out of America's sight, he made a terrified face.

_What do I do? What does he want to talk about? What can I say back? What is normal? Why is he so happy? WHY? _

England came back and poured America some tea, "So? How are things?" He said, still forcing a smile and a cheery voice.

America gave him a worried look, "Are you sure you're okay? You're acting weird…"

England laughed nervously, "What do you mean? I've changed over the years!" _No I haven't…_

America tilted his head, "It doesn't seem that way to me…" He looked down into his tea cup, "I don't think I like tea anymore, sorry."

_This used to be his favorite brand…And now, I like it, so I keep buying them…_ "Oh! My bad! Here, let me take it back, then." He took the tea cup and sat down next to America and drank the tea himself.

They sat there, creating an awkward atmosphere. America slowly began talking about everything he could manage. As England listened, he grew more upset. _He's so much greater than I...he's invented so much…_

England tried to keep smiling, but he felt his eyes filling with tears and quickly brought his head down. America looked up at him, "England? You okay?"

_If I nod, my tears will fall…but I can't bring myself to say yes…_

When he didn't respond, America got up from his chair and went over to him, "England?" he was about to put a hand on England's shoulder.

England lashed out at him, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" He slapped his hand away from him and jumped up from his chair and faced America.

America was shocked; he just stared at him, "Arthur? What's gotten into you?"

"Don't you dare call me by that horrid name!" England snapped back, "No one is allowed to say my name! Especially not you!"

"I used to call you that when I was little," America frowned, "What are you? Bipolar?"

"Shut up! How can you act like nothing bad has ever happened to you? Or to me!" England sniffled and tears began falling, "And never bring up that past to me! I've suffered and wasted a lot of time because of what you did to me!"

"So…you did love me," America said suddenly.

When he heard those words, England stopped crying. He looked up at him, "what do you mean? Of course I loved you!" He grew angry again, "You think I'd care this much if I didn't!"

America grinned, "You haven't changed…"

"What?" England looked up at him, "I have changed! I'm a huge mess because of you!"

"No, but you were always this worried…"

"Worried? Who said I was worried?"

America sighed, "Never mind…This is how I imagined you to be after all this time…I'm sorry..." He stood up and walked towards the door, "I'm sorry I made you this upset, I just wanted to be your friend."

England slowly followed him, "Fine, but I don't think I can handle your attitude for very long. Now get out!" He pushed him outside and slammed the door.

England wiped his eyes and threw out the tea and washed the dishes. But this time, he didn't stare into space.

_Damn it, America…I feel happy, sad, and mad all at once…And yet, I cannot bring myself to hate you. Why is that so? I don't even understand my own reasoning right now. I don't make any sense. Deep down, there is a child I once knew and loved, an adolescence that I was irritated with, and a teenager who I was frustrated and downright angry with. But I still never hated you. Even when you threw out my tea. It is proof that I love you: As a person, as a brother, as another nation, and as a man that you've become. Sometimes I got so mad at you, that I scared myself: He's my little brother, he's my new reason, how could I hate him? Then I suddenly realize that because I was the one who raised you, you turned out to hate me in the end? Did you hate me? I don't even know what his opinion was. Was he just following what his people wanted? Or does he have his own reason. A reason I will never find out, until I ask. _

_Dear America, you were my new reason. The first person I ever loved and cared for. The first person to love me unconditionally and the first person to ever see me as someone good. _

The first person that the gentle-British man loved.


End file.
